


Leave the war with me

by phrynne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Second Person, Pain, Post-War, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 03:25:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11637948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phrynne/pseuds/phrynne
Summary: You'll never stop owing him. You'll never be able to pay him back. You'll never be the person he needs. He has everyone. You are no one.





	Leave the war with me

_“Fair trials, they don't exist my friend_  
_Only a circus in my mind_  
_Judgement's gone and there's no love again_  
_But it's my way till the end of time_  
_Where do we go?_  
_And I'm leaning towards_  
_Losing my mind and I'm feeling no more_ _  
_ _Ooh, better leave that war with me”_

**Leave The War With Me, London Grammar**

The war ends and you don't know who you are.

You survived. You'd never thought of getting out of there alive. It should surprise you, but you don't feel it. You don’t feel anything at all. You understand that the time has come to pay. Azkaban looms over your head and you don't know how you got there, just that this is what you deserve. You accept it. Life holds no meaning anymore. You only worry about them. Your parents. You know they loved you in their way, even if all they told you was a lie. But you are used to lies now, so much so that you no longer know the difference.

You await trial and you're not expecting anything, anything at all. That's why you startle when you hear his voice. Your head snaps in the direction of the sound and it's really him. He's speaking before the Wizengamot and you think you know why he's there. He's always seen through you, after all. He's going to make them see too. Who you really are. The sentence will be easy. Not easy on you, but easy for them, the ones that hold justice and truth in their hands. The ones that hold the remnants of your life.

He always knew what kind of person you were. You were never able to hide it from him, no matter how hard you tried. And now he was going to tell them. To prove, once and for all, that you belong in Azkaban.

You look at him. He's been speaking for some time, but because you already know what he's saying you weren't listening. Something gets to you when you look at him. You thought you didn't know the difference between the lies and the rest, but as you look at him you remember. You remember that he has always been on the other side. That you’ve always seen him there. Across from you. That was what made the world, your world, make sense. It told you where you stood. Always on the opposite side. Always aware of him.

As you are now.

He's still speaking and something's not right. You are not taken to Azkaban. You try to imagine what could be worse than that place. Because that's where they're going to take you, for sure. A special place for people just like you. He's certainly made them see what you are.

In the end, the place they send you to is the one that used to be your home. You don't know why they are setting you and your family free, you don't know why - until you see your mother crying in front of him, thanking him, eyes torn. You don't have tears, you don't have anything, you just stare at him and he looks back at you. You can’t read him, but you are stricken by his sight. Time stands still and you don't understand him. You look and you look and you lose track again of what is true, what is lie, because all the lines are blurred. You are supposed to hate him, but you know that, for a long time, you haven't. You look again and he's still staring at you. He looks older and tired and lost. You are the first to look away.

At that moment you know you'll never stop seeing him.

You soon find out that home is worse than Azkaban. Home is no longer home. It’s defiled. You can't sleep and you can't stay there, so you go away. You get your own place, but it’s empty. Impersonal. You don’t spend much time there anyway. You finish studying. You apply to a job. Someone takes pity on you and you hold on to this job, not because you want it, not because you need it, but because it’s right. Right is more important than everything now. You have to pay. It is time to pay. War reparations become your life. You do what’s needed. Money is not a problem. You give it all to make it right. You’d give more, everything, to make it right. But you know nothing will make it so.

For a long time you just wander. You’ve become so used to being alone that you don’t miss anyone. You go out to bars because you can't sleep. You'll never sleep again. You let random strangers have you because it helps you forget. You don't understand their fire, their want for you. You never get hard anymore, but you want them to fuck you, to fill you, so they do. You just let them in.

One night, he’s there. He looks younger now, but still tired and lost. The first time he smiles at you, you don't really register it. You are sure it’s not for you, but you see him. His eyes never smile. You turn to leave but his hand is on your arm and he asks you if you can't sleep too. You nod. And then you leave.

You go back almost every night. He's there most nights. And he always smiles. But his eyes never do. It keeps happening and one day you wonder if he's smiling at you but it's impossible. He has no reason to. You look behind you, because surely he is smiling at someone else. There's no one there, only you. You don't smile back. You've forgotten how to do it. You just nod, some kind of recognition. I see you. You see me. His eyes are so sad. You know this because that's what you see every day in the mirror. You don't know why you still look in the mirror, but you do. You don't recognise who is staring back. Someone pale. Like a ghost of you.

Still you keep going to that bar. You watch as he kisses other men. You watch, you drink and you let someone else have you. His eyes are on you as you leave with someone. Someone that sucks you in a back alley. You get hard, but only barely. You come, but don't remember anything afterwards. You go back every night. He goes back every night and every night there's another man on him.

One night you wish you were that man, the one he has pinned down under him, against a wall, in the dark. You don't notice how much this man looks like you. How every man he chooses looks like you. You don’t notice anything, but him. You stop going there because it comes to a point where it hurts too much and you just don't know how to make it stop.

So you remember your duties. What is right. It’s not like you’ve forgotten. You are a good soon. Your mother has nothing else in her life other than you. Your father expects you to do what’s needed. They are counting on you. You are an heir. You have responsibilities. You have to pay. For what you've done. For what they've done. You have to pay. It will never be over because the damage you've done is too big. You owe them to be a good soon.

So you say yes.

You will marry whomever they want you too. You stop caring about who you were. That endless possibility was never really yours. You can't be that anymore. It doesn't matter what you want, who you think you are. There are more important things after all. And you need to pay your debts.

You owe him. You owe him so much. Your life. Your parents lives. It is on his word that you are allowed to live out of Azkaban. You'll never stop owing him. You'll never be able to pay him back. You'll never be the person he needs. He has everyone. You are no one.

So you stop going to the bars. You've accepted your role. You have to play it now, there are rules. And one is, you can't go to gay bars anymore. Also, you can't see him anymore. You can't wish anymore. It doesn't do to dwell on it. So you stop going.

You're at home, not the Manor, never the Manor again. That was the only thing you asked them for. Not having to live there. You'll go there for dinners, social obligations. Nothing more. You live in your quiet flat, high up as you could find one. You like to imagine you are close to the sky, it remembers you of how it felt to fly. Because you'll never do that again. The good things must stay behind. You have to pay. You don't know to whom you’re owing any more, but you must pay.

So you sit in your room and watch the time go by, it will take you to the important, needed, moments in your life. Proper work. Marriage. The making of an heir. Those are your only functions. The purpose of your life.

You don't understand why he is there, one day, knocking at your door. A discrepancy.

You don't invite him in, but he walks inside. His hair is a mess. You avoid his eyes. He wants to know why you never showed up again. You can't answer him because you didn't even know he was aware you were there.

He does not leave. He asks how you are. You wonder why he looks worried. You question his sanity. Then yours.

He says your name. Your first name. You've never heard him say it before. It sounds better than anything you ever heard and so you repress that. He asks if you need help. You can't process this. He has already saved your life. You stare at him, you allow yourself to look in his eyes. Only for a moment, because you can’t take them. You never could.

You tell him everything is fine. He does not believe you. You tell him you're not friends. He asks you why. You don't have an answer. Just this: _why would you want that?_ You show him the door. He leaves silently.

He's there the next morning. It's Saturday and you have nothing to do. Your life's work and waiting for the wedding. On weekends you disappear. You don't answer Pansy’s firecalls. Or her letters. She lives in Paris now. She couldn't deal with living in London anymore. Not after everything. There's only so much hate one can take. You ignore Blaise too. He cares about you, but he's run away. He lives in New York. You don't blame him. You don't blame anyone. You respect that everyone needs to survive. It's easier this way. So there's no one in your life. And you can't have anonymous sex anymore. You are a good son. You promised.

So when someone rings at your door, you ignore it. But it goes on and on and then some part of you feels something. You are slightly, just slightly, annoyed. That's the only reason why you open the door. And he's there. You don't even speak to each other. He doesn’t even look at you. He goes in, he holds a bag and he tells you that's breakfast. You tell him you don't eat breakfast. In fact, you don't eat much these days. You are never hungry any more so there is no point. Nothing tastes good.

He has that look again. And because he also has no manners, he searches for your kitchen by himself. He ignores you and you stand there not moving, while he proceeds to serve breakfast. Warm Bread. Eggs. He waves his wand and starts boiling water for the tea. Your kitchen hasn't seen tea in a long time. Nor magic. Now you never do magic outside of work. You have to pay.

He's eating breakfast at your kitchen table. You think of leaving him there alone. But somehow you can't look away, so you end up sitting and drinking tea. The tea is good. Warm.

He keeps coming back. Every Saturday. He's there. He has breakfast. You don't talk. He just eats next to you. You start boiling the water before he arrives. When he notices this, he smiles. It's that smile again. You are completely alone with him so you know it's for you. You just don't know why. Or why he's there. For weeks, you don't ask why. Then one day you do. His answer is quite simple, although you can't understand it. _Because I want to._ That's what he says. It does not make sense, so you wonder again about his sanity. Then you wonder about yours.

That time, when he says goodbye, he leans in and kisses your cheek.

And that's what makes you break.

You look in the mirror and you see someone broken. You wonder if that's who he sees too. You realise you are feeling something all of a sudden. And it's his fault. You feel mad. Disturbed. You were fine. But he had to break you again. You are not frail. You are not someone he can mess with anymore. You're going to show him.

That night you go to the bar. And he's there. You walk over to him. It's been a long time since you walked this way. Like you are going somewhere. You go to him. He lifts his eyes and he gives you that smile again. Something rips inside you.

You snatch his drink and gulp it down in one go and the alcohol burns you in a rush. His eyes do not leave you. You don't understand him. It's like everything he does doesn't make sense to you, but you can't stop watching. You want to ask him what's his problem. But instead, and without knowing why, you ask him to dance with you.

He's there, on you, in a heartbeat.

He's pressed close to you and you know this is wrong, this is everything you promised not to do, you don't even deserve this, him, he's too good, he's everything you're not, but then his mouth is on yours and he tastes like everything you want in life.

But you thought you didn't want anything.

You don't spare any more thoughts. Your body still remembers what to do. You can't believe in his desperate moans, but your body does believe them. His hands are all over you and you kiss him so deep and hard you stop breathing, but in fact you are breathing for the first time in ages, and it's been so long that you drink in his cries and taste his tongue and then you are taking him home.

You decide your mind is broken and you cannot listen to it anymore, so you listen to your body and you listen to his. He fucks you on your bed, slow, careful, gentle, he takes everything apart and puts it back together, but you know, you know it's gonna take some time. He can't save you again, not this time, but he's there. He's inside you and he's looking at you. And his body is saying I love you, I love you. You don’t know what these words mean, but you are spiralling out of this world with him, leaving the war.

You come with him pounding you, a silent scream on your lips against his tongue and he crashes over you, his scream echoing in your ears, and he doesn't let go.

You fall asleep next to him because you think he's a dream. Nothing this good happens to you. Nothing happens to you.

You wake up the next morning on an empty bed. Something is burning behind your eyes but you see no point in letting it out. You go into the kitchen and he's there, making breakfast. He looks up at you and there's that smile that doesn't go away. You can't handle it. You can't believe it. You go into your room and dress and then you leave him there.

Your world no longer makes sense. You don't know why he's doing any of this. You think that maybe he just wanted to fuck someone like you. Defiled. A fucktoy. You think that maybe he hates himself that much. But a hate fuck does not imply breakfast, in fact you think breakfast is something very strange to have with someone you hate. You wonder about his sanity. Then you wonder about yours.

You can't get him. But the real problem is, you start to want to. You want to know him. To understand him. To know what he feels. And it's the first time you wonder about anything, the first time you want to know something about someone else.

You go back and of course he's not there. You decide to look for him. You don't know where he lives. But you remember someone who does. You go to them, because you remember where they live. They don’t look surprised to see you and that should tell you something, but you are still trying to grip the reality in which they are actually speaking to you. Like you are a person.

You almost can’t look at her because you still remember her pain. She remembers it better than you and you know it in her eyes. And suddenly you tell them you are sorry. You can’t speak much. They look at you and they forgive you. You understand why they are his best friends. Why they were the ones to go with him through it all. Compared to them, you are nothing.

You turn to leave, but she doesn’t let you. Somehow, she knows you came for him and she tells you where he is. His address is a secret but she entrusts you with it. You wonder about her sanity. Then you wonder about yours.

You thank her and you go after him. You know that house. You can’t imagine a place worse for him to live in. You don’t know why lives there. You read the address she gave you and you knock.

The look on his face when he opens the door, changes everything.

He looks at you like it’s been a long time coming.

Like he’d never expected this, even in his dreams.

You think he _is_ the dream.

You step in. You want to ask him so many things. There’s darkness in his eyes, and you are surprised to only notice it now. Such darkness as you never seen. You realise he’s letting you see it. Somehow you know he doesn’t do that often. He stands there, disheveled hair, green dark eyes, open hands and he’s so vulnerable, so broken. You touch his face and he lets you. He leans into the touch, his eyes closing, a shiver going from him to you. It releases something in you, something you thought was dead forever. You want. You want him. You want his darkness, his fear, his tenderness. You want to know what’s behind those eyes, you want to go in deep and take his pain. Because he should never be in pain again. And this want takes you apart.

You reach for him, he comes willingly into your arms, he looks young and lost and in his eyes you see the same want you feel. You don’t want this to be a dream. You want this to be real. _Tell me this is real, you_  say. And he speaks your name. Just your name. His hands press on your hips. Soft, warm. Needy. That's when you tell him something you didn't even know you were going to say. _I want you, Harry_. And then you burn.

His body crashes over you, his mouth eats you alive and he lifts you off your feet. You drink in his strength, this impossible will to live that presses you against a wall. Your body makes him hard, and panting, and gasping and his hands go down on you. He feels you up and you find yourself hard against him. So hard, so very alive. You want to open him up. He whispers against your cheek: _take me to bed and rip me apart_.  And that’s what you do.

You are inside him. He wants you, he wants you. He tells you that with everything he has, as he takes you deep. You fuck him like you never fucked anyone, like you are alive. He kisses you from the war and back.

You lie still afterwards, falling. You tell him you are broken. He knows. He tells you he cannot save you, but that he wants to be with you. Everything about him amazes you. Everything he is, everything he does. And you want him too. You realise you are not going to marry her. You realise you are going into war for your life again, with him beside you.

He looks at you with those eyes that ended a war. And he takes your hand. He goes with you. You go back to that awful place. He squeezes your hand in his and looks at you. He’s remembering the same thing you are. Your only good deed. That time, long ago, where you saved him. You knew it was him. There was never a doubt. You could feel his magic all around you. That brand of magic is something you’ll always know. Forever.

You go to them, with his fingers laced in yours. You tell them the truth. This is your battle and you are really alone as you say it, but you feel his warm hand and you know you’ll survive. More importantly, you want to survive.

The words are out. And you feel light,  even as their hate reaches you. Your father is looking at you and you take in his hatred, you obliterate it. He moves to hit you, but then green eyes, wand at the ready. _Don’t you dare touch him._ You reassure him with your hand and you step forward.

You tell them the truth again. You are not going to marry her. You are gay. You love cock. And you think you love him. The man beside you. They can’t take that away from you. They will never take anything else away from you. You leave with him holding your hand.

There’s panic rising in your chest and he’s kissing you. He kisses you for a long time, until you forget everything in his mouth.

In that kiss he tells you about the wait. He’s been waiting for you all this time. He tells you about the darkness. How he feels that you're the only one that can really understand it. He’s still trapped there. You realise the war was never over for him.

Your heart is beating on your throat, loud, clear, and you’ve never heard anything like it. It tells you: you are alive.

It’s then, that you tell him: _Harry, leave the war with me._

It's the first day of your life.

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote yesterday, while listening to the wonderful song from London Grammar. It's pain, laid bare. Your comments are much wanted*


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